


Blood is the Taste of Love

by crazyparakiss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Art, Catholic Guilt, Catholic Imagery, Dark, Dark Harry, Digital Art, Domestic Violence, Dubious Morality, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, H/D Hurt!Fest 2020, Jealousy, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26235559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyparakiss/pseuds/crazyparakiss
Summary: Mother, if I do not live to see the dawn...know that I died in the arms of my love. Most likely suffocating beneath the grip of his soft hands.A willing sacrifice...
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 34
Kudos: 130
Collections: H/D Hurt!Fest 2020





	Blood is the Taste of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nerdherderette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdherderette/gifts).



> So, if you've made it through all the tags: HI! 
> 
> This is much shorter than I anticipated (due to a lot of things in life) but I saw the prompt and knew I had to write it for Nerd (who is kinda the bees fuckin' knees). So this is dark, fucked up Harry, love ;) Just for you and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it (add to the list of things my therapist will want to discuss). 
> 
> Also the art I had been working on for this on my new Wacom tablet was fighting me (kinda suck at Correll painter) so I did something quick and sloppy in a few hours on Procreate and the iPad. It's not my first design (that I was stoked about) but if I can get that one to not suck I will add it at a later date (please don't hold your breath you might die waiting LOL). 
> 
> Anyways, ENJOY!

  
  


_ Where did the lie begin?  _

Draco wonders—as he glances around him—who here would believe the secret he’s been keeping?

Certainly not a single soul at this Ministry function. Draco’s cool champagne glass grows warm in his palm as Draco’s eyes scan the glittering space around him. Posh gowns and tailored tuxedos as far as he can see—the brightest star in the room falls over Potter. Of course. Standing amongst his ever adoring fans, Potter smiles and Draco knows what lies behind that facade. 

He knows that those large teeth  _ hurt _ when Potter actually grins. The way Potter’s blunted fingernails digs violet-coloured crescents into Draco’s skin as he grips Draco’s slim hips—horrific words roll off of Potter’s skilled tongue like a silken caress against Draco’s neck while Potter fucks him with a force that is just this side of brutal. 

_ Gentle.  _ That’s how this room sees Potter. That’s how the papers paint him—a portrait of wholesomeness that makes women like Weasel’s mum and sister swoon. 

_ Heroic.  _ A word some brown-nosing do-gooder says near the end of the night when they start the presentation for the First Class ribbon Potter’s meant to receive from the Order of Merlin. Killing a dark lord gets you one of those, it seems, and Draco only just manages to contain his snort of derision when Potter is called to the podium. To regale them all with the trite old story of how he died for them all. 

Bleeding martyr that he is—Draco thinks about Christ and all the sermons that were drilled into him during his own youth. He wonders if this is how Harry Potter will become a deity. Raised to a level where all is forgiven; a place where Potter no longer will know the meaning of accountability. 

Not that Potter ever did. 

Draco hadn't either—for a time—known consequences and when they were first given he'd felt the sting of their slap as viscerally as he feels Potter’s palm across his arse when they arrive home. 

A horrific place that is more dwelling than comfort. An opulent cage for a Malfoy whose wings have been clipped. 

"Your thoughts are loud, Draco," Potter's voice is a silken, seductive lilt against the shell of Draco's ear. 

Yet, Potter's thick cock is rough as it claims the most intimate parts of Draco's body. A ravaging that he can only give Draco, for who else could withstand Potter’s acts of violence. A war that never ended—that’s what Potter gives to him—one Draco is loathed to admit that he craves. A battle that is theirs alone. 

“Shut up.” Draco hisses against Potter’s loving mouth before his large, blunted teeth dig into Draco’s lip. 

Blood is the taste of love. 

Or so Draco believes as Potter marks him with wounds, chanting  _ mine  _ into the room that is full of Draco’s desperate screams. 

*

Mother believes Potter is  _ good  _ for Draco. A salvation he needs. However, she’s fooled, as the rest of them are, by Potter’s charming smiles. His soft gaze is full of malice if one bothers to look. Deep within that alarming shade of green, a monster lies in wait. A creature that only heeds Draco’s call. 

A call that sounds of a scream. 

Mother titters about the room, touching this and that in her usual need to “tidy things up” around his flat. She moves with unhurried grace, and Draco watches her for signs of pain. Nothing hurts in her body. 

Yet, in Draco’s, everything is agony. 

Potter had whispered to him about a broken bird living in an open cage. His voice a melody that was soothing even as his hands wrecked Draco’s everything. 

Breaking the dove Potter was so desperate to keep. 

“You can leave at any time,” Potter had reminded. “But who out there would love you the way I do?” 

Potter’s hands are awful, but his words are worse. Or so Draco keeps discovering. 

At the beginning of this madness, Draco was just as fooled as his mother. As are all the horrid do-gooders who flock around Potter’s impressive presence. Draco had believed he’d stepped into his own version of a fairytale. 

Completely forgetting that fairytales were once dark, dangerous fables. Ones meant to serve as a warning against the hidden beasts of the world. 

Potter is certainly a danger Draco should’ve seen. 

One he would have recognized if he had remembered that lions often come to people dawning the pelt of gazelles. 

*

Sometimes, Draco believes he wants saving. Penance is what led him to accept that first date with Potter. The idea that he could be absolved of all sins, of all wrongdoings, by Potter's grace. 

Potter's communion is a different absolution. His wine—true blood on lips—tastes of the devil's sweet promise of eternal pleasure. Blasphemous, that is what they are in this relationship. Cursed and cured in each other. 

There are times—when Potter's loving violence ends—Draco holds Potter as he weeps. His head in Draco's lap while Draco runs his pale fingers through the soft, twisted mess of Potter's dark hair. 

In those moments, Draco is Potter's Madonna. The mother he craves in all moments of his life. Draco becomes a lover, a mother, a scapegoat...

Whatever Potter requires, Draco gives. 

The selfless Mary who sacrificed her body to birth God's coveted lamb.

He used to believe he wanted saving, but Draco knows, now, somewhere deep, that he has always longed to be Potter's salvation. 

Who wouldn't want to hold power over God? 

*

Granger, golden student that she is, becomes the first to spot the cracks. The ones crumbling at a foundation that was doomed from the start of this ill-fated entanglement. 

Weasel had been their greatest opposer, but Granger is the one who unravels the delicate, silken spin of their lies. She is the one who sees their web, and falls into the sticky mess of it willingly. 

Her curiosity is as damnable as a cat’s. 

Once she catches them, at a Christmas celebration, in an unoccupied office of the ministry. 

Potter—hissing his usual litany—fucks into Draco with the sort of rage that could constitute a crime. 

Even as Granger watches them living their hidden evils, Potter doesn't stop. He is too absorbed in the siren call of Draco's easily bruised skin. His teeth create a ruby broach against Draco's shoulder as he comes. 

All the while Draco holds Granger's horrified, brown gaze. 

A smile—so slight it could be easily mistaken for a grimace—tilts up the corners of Draco's mouth. His own eyes mock her, while words whisper through his mind. 

_ Look at what he truly is _ — _ your golden boy _ — _ look at what he only gives to me.  _

After the first time, Granger makes it a mission to seek them out when they both go missing at functions. Worry always surrounds her like a cloak pungent with the sweat of the guilty. 

She worries, but Draco knows her fear is for Potter. If she cared about Draco she would scream when she catches them. No sound ever leaves her throat, her loyalty to Potter greater than her disgust over what he morphs into as he takes Draco with obscene violence. 

Each time Granger lives out her voyeuristic fantasies, she has the disgusting pleasure of watching Potter play as an artist. Potter paints Draco's body—his  _ canvas _ —with the deep-rooted horrors of Potter's mind. 

Horrors that linger in all who have died in a war. Only, most of those people don’t come back to wreck the world the way Potter did. The way Potter does...

Granger always stands as a Watcher angel, eyes wet with the terrors she witnesses. Seemingly disgusted, Granger stands with a small hand over her mouth while she watches Potter finish his work. 

All these times and she has never made a sound.

To rub salt in her festering wounds, Draco asks Potter, "What would you do if I died? Here in your hands?" 

Potter's laugh is low, seductive enough to make Draco's pulse race with pleasure. "I will not permit you to die." Even as he creates a thick choker on Draco's neck, in the shape of his large hands, Potter kisses Draco's mouth with an unparalleled gentleness. "I would kill you with these hands, with love, Draco. Then, I would revive you with the same emotions. Only to kill you all over again." 

"You can't revive the dead, Potter," Draco teases. Wondering if he'll go too far this time...if this will be the crack in the dam that unleashes Potter's murderous intentions. "You're not actually a god." 

Potter's fingers dig deeper into Draco's thin throat. His breathing becomes more shallow as Potter proves, with his hands, that he is whatever he wants to be. What he craves, more than anything, is to be the only God in Draco's world. 

To be everything. 

Life and Death. 

"I am the master of death, Draco. I am as close to a god as you will ever come during this lifetime," his tongue tickles Draco's earlobe. Potter sucks at the flesh, nibbling against it with a sweetness that Draco doesn't believe is contrived. "Now, beg for mercy." 

What Potter actually means is  _ love me as I am.  _

"Forever," Draco promises. In Potter's verdant gaze he sees devotion. 

Heels click on the marble floors as Granger hurries out of their presence. 

_ Good riddance.  _

*

"I couldn't do it without Draco," Potter says in some ridiculous interview for  _ The Daily Prophet.  _

An interview Draco reads in the morning. His body is more purple and blue than white. His hot tea stings the split in his lower lip, but Draco relishes the hurt. 

Defends it to Pansy who comes round for an impromptu afternoon tea. 

Horror. Rage. Disgust. 

Emotions that swirl in her narrowed blue eyes as she watches Draco from across the small round table in his kitchen's dining nook. The place where Potter shoved their dinner to the floor—a cacophony of breaking china—to take Draco roughly over that table in the early hours of dawn. 

His lower back still smarts from the way Potter fucked him hard into the wood. A battering ram of lustful rage Draco welcomed with open arms. 

"He's going to kill you, Draco." 

"He won't," Draco assures with a bored shrug. 

"Christ," she covers her eyes with her pale, neatly manicured hands. Draco watches the way she swallows. Biting down emotions he knows Pansy wants to scream. Draco doesn't mention the sheen of tears that pink the whites of her eyes. "I thought you, of all people, were smarter than this." 

Draco gives her an empty stare. 

Pansy sighs. "You know, darling, when they write of your death...you will be the villain." She lights a cigarette, and Draco notices age crinkling the skin around her eyes. Eyes too old for a woman so young. "They will paint the portrait of a devil who needed slaying by a Messiah's hand."

"Well, love, so long as my memory is alive in you that won't be the truth,” Draco replies. 

Pansy releases a breath that sounds of a wooden laugh. "I thought I was done crying over you. Tit."

If he weren’t so far gone in Potter’s world of destruction, Draco might feel bad for the way he hurts Pansy by loving him. 

*

Potter’s rage shifts into a devil Draco has never beheld, a mythical beast that should be put into the pages of that horrid monstrous book the giant oaf had them study from in the Fifth Year. 

An Obscurus was something Draco heard his father whisper of, during conversations Draco was never invited to sit on. The sort of meetings where men and women in black, velvet robes and horrid masks came marching through their halls before disappearing into the cavernous library where they conducted dark rituals. 

Draco’s dark rituals are no less innocent than those of his father’s—his apple fell closer to the rotten tree than his mother likes to admit. The vile, obsessive lord that Draco serves is wrapped in a prettier package. He’s a hero in the eyes of the masses...

_ Heroes are the winners of history, and winners write the accounts.  _

One of Draco’s earliest lessons and he thinks on those softly spoken words. The ones that his father spouted with his perfectly posh tone. He hears them whisper through him again as horrific energy rips through the marble pillars of the enchanted garden they stand within. 

Despite the presence of hundreds, Potter unleashes his furies. Into the world they move, as a punishment for the crime of McLaggen’s greasy palm resting on Draco’s hip. The moving head of a marble dragon crashes to the neatly manicured lawn amidst a chorus of screams. Water spurts from the neck of its white body and Draco has a moment of panic. 

Believing this imagery before him to be a premonition. 

Despite the chaos of Potter’s anger. His  _ hate.  _ He approaches McLaggen with the sort of calm that only a psychopath can manage during a horrorshow. 

With a soft, seemingly friendly tone, Potter whispers, “Cormac, you’re touching something that belongs to me.” 

Fearful eyes dart between Potter and Draco while a worried frown dips down the corners of McLaggen’s thin mouth. “Potter,” McLaggen begins with a placating tone. “It’s not what it seems.” 

One of Potter’s fine eyebrows lifts—a clear indication that he doesn’t believe any of the shit McLaggen has stammered. As Potter shouldn’t. McLaggen was whispering disgusting filth to Draco, under the pretence of catching up with an old mate while Draco stood in silence. Draco had been hoping to avoid a scene. 

Clearly, that hope was shot to dust. 

“Potter,” Draco says with a pleading strain to his voice.

Those expressive green eyes slide towards Draco. A conflict of malice and desire swirling in a gaze Draco feels himself being swallowed within. 

_ Take me home, Potter. Unleash whatever you must within me.  _

The hint of a smile hides in the corner of Potter’s mouth; as if he’s climbed through the defences of Draco’s fortified mind and heard Draco’s private thoughts. 

As quickly as the manifestation of Potter’s rage came it leaves—gone as if it were nothing more than a short, waking nightmare. 

“Draco,” Potter commands with his palm outstretched for Draco’s hand. 

Despite knowing he is the mouse willingly climbing into the mouth of a snake, Draco takes hold of Potter’s offered hand. Going with him back to the den where all their bones are buried. 

_ Mother, if I do not live to see the dawn...know that I died in the arms of my love. Most likely suffocating beneath the grip of his soft hands.  _

_ A willing sacrifice... _

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Remember to leave some love for the creator if you can! Come reblog this work and view others from this fest [HERE](https://hd-hurtfest.tumblr.com/) on the H/D Hurt!Fest tumblr page!


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